More than a Handful of Moments
by Klondike Aura
Summary: Submissions for Fakiru Week 2013
1. Yellow

Yellow

Fakir had forgotten just how strong Ahiru was over the years. The more he fights against Ahiru digging her heels in the dirt, however, the more he remembers.

"It's not that bad," he argues, teeth gritted from exertion.

"Yes it is! Lillie told me so!" Ahiru whines.

"And how many times has Lillie been right?"

Despite the lack of examples proving Lillie's reliability, Ahiru tosses her head left and right and kicks against the ground, gaining more footing. Eventually Fakir lets go of her wrists and she lands on her butt, flopping over.

"You're acting like a moron," Fakir says, careful not to accuse her of actually being a moron. There is, he has to admit, nothing stupid about phobia. But what needs to be done needs to be done. "Look, I'll go first and you'll see it's not so bad."

She fusses there on the ground before Fakir gently tilts her chin up.

"Ahiru, you know I wouldn't do anything now to hurt you, right?"

She reluctantly nods.

"And you know if we don't do this, we won't be able to keep going to ballet class, right?"

She nods again and lets him pull her to her feet. With a gentle hand, he dusts off the side of her skirt.

"I promise it's not as bad as others make it out to be," Fakir reassures. "It really isn't. And I'll be right there with you. Okay?"

"But it's gonna hurt," Ahiru protests one last time.

The whine of her voice fades away when Fakir kisses her cheek.

"What if I did that when it happens? Will that help?"

"...we could try it," she relents.

And with that, Ahiru finally follows Fakir into the doctor's office.


	2. Mistake

Mistake

These parties always feel like the wrong place. Fakir never really saw the point, throwing a party for every book released. Becoming published was certainly exciting but not the sort of exciting he cared for.

Bringing Ahiru along to one of these shindigs didn't seem right. He'd never brought her before but she insisted on being there with him to celebrate the film serials planned based on his latest anthology.

Fakir watches her mingle, not bothering to sip the provided champagne. He could feel his face flush from Ahiru gushing about how great his writing is and how he's a great danseur as well and how she's so happy to be with him or what this or that person is up to and it's amazing that so many talented people could be together in just one place.

But then it happened.

"And what are you doing here with your mindless chatter?"

"What have you done that makes you worth being here?"

"How a brilliant mind like his can put up with a nattering fool like you is beyond me."

"She's just a frail little ballerina. She isn't even very good."

"You're a mistake."

The dull clink of a champagne flute hitting the carpeted floor is barely heard. Just before Ahiru could succumb to the tears burning hot in the corners of her eyes, she feels Fakir's strong hands on her shoulders.

"How dare you," he growls just over her shoulder to her accusers. "You have no idea who she is, what she's done for you. For all of us. How dare you forget."

"Fakir, it's okay," she softly protest.

"No," he says, giving one shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It's not okay."

Fakir lets Ahiru go and steps away. She and the group hurling their abuse are left confused and quiet as he steps to the front of the room. He turns to address those gathered, his voice commanding all attention.

"Once upon a time..."

The silence blankets the room slowly as Fakir speaks, the master of his craft spinning a story right then and there for those lucky ones present. Some of it sounded familiar, the idea of a duck transforming into a girl because she was in love with a prince nothing new to his avid readers. But new details appear in his words. The once-cold knight fated to die finds new purpose, the princess who was also a duck bringing him hope he never knew before. She accepts everything and everyone, even the one who tried to hurt her with his cowardice. And it's her brilliant hope that freed them all.

"...but no one except the duck who became a ballerina and the knight who became a writer remembered. No one else knew that it was a little duck who saved them from the darkness of the Raven, a little duck who never asked for anything for herself, who took on every burden ever placed on her and smiled all the same. And nothing about her is a mistake."

Fakir strides through the crowd even as the group around Ahiru laughs at him. He takes her hand and begins to pull her with him, more than ready to leave.

"He's just as crazy as her," one of them quips, not even waiting to talk about them behind their backs.

"I'd rather be crazy with Ahiru than sane with you amnesiacs," Fakir doesn't hesitate to toss back on their way out.

Fakir sits on the steps leading to the lush courtyard, Ahiru standing behind him.

"I'm so sorry-" she starts before Fakir pulls her down to sit with him.

"Don't be," he murmurs to her, drawing her close with his arm. "I'm sorry they said such horrible things to you."

"But your writing-"

"There are more important things."

They sit there a while, Fakir's fingers softly trailing up and down Ahiru's bare arm.

"You know, this is still technically a celebration for me," Fakir comments. "We don't have to go back inside but we don't have to leave the courtyard, either."

"It is really nice out here..." Ahiru says.

She then leans down and takes her shoes off, holding up the skirt of her gown so the hem isn't soaked by the evening dew as she lets her bare feet explore the grass. Fakir smiles, his first genuine smile of the night, before his own shoes are placed next to hers and he joins her.

What began as a stroll soon has a bump of Ahiru into Fakir. Not to be outdone, he nudges her back with his elbow. A playful shove from her follows and escalates into a game of tag, ending only when Ahiru finally tackles Fakir and they both topple to the ground. Content there, they lie side by side in the yard, looking up at what stars they could see in the night sky.

"I'm glad you're here with me," Fakir tells her only to see Ahiru had fallen asleep.

He sits up, brushing the grass off of himself and ignoring the grass stains on his fine suit before doing the same for Ahiru. Fakir carefully gathers her in his arms, leaving their shoes behind as they depart the worst and the best party he's attended.


	3. Modern

Modern

"Isn't this a bit...antiquated?"

Fakir rolls his eyes while Ahiru gives him a knowing nudge. He needs to be nice to the new clerk or shopping at the music store is just going to get difficult.

"It's the music we like," Ahiru answers so Fakir doesn't have to. "This one's our favorite."

"But don't you like any...you know, _good_ music?"

Ahiru tilts her head. "Of course we do. That's why we're buyin' this."

"Nah, man, what you guys need is-"

"We are entitled to our taste in music," Fakir interrupts. "And you are entitled to disagree. But I don't see how refusing to sell us what we want when it's offered in your store is beneficial to either of us."

"Hey, I'm just trying to help you guys out. Get you something a little fresher, you know?"

"Hn. And how would you like it if we forced you to listen to our musty old classical music?" Fakir suggests.

"This's different. My music's actually good."

Fakir sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come on, Ahiru. We'll come back later."

"But what about Scheherazade?" Ahiru asks.

"I imagine it'll still be here collecting dust," Fakir reassures. "That is the benefit of having such antiquated tastes."


	4. Balance

Balance

Ahiru wrings the napkin in her hands, shredding it into little papers that fall on the bank statement sitting on the table.

The balance wasn't unexpected. Fakir had always been upfront about his earnings and their financial situation. And all things considered, they weren't wanting for anything. But then she noticed the withdrawals.

It's no surprise, really. Fakir works hard and of course he'd want a little spending money for himself. Taking out a little cash isn't a big deal. But the frequency of the withdrawals versus how much Fakir actually went out and treated himself didn't match up. Did he have some sort of secret debt he didn't want to burden her with? How is she even going to bring this up to him?

The door creeks open, signaling the moment of truth.

"Ahiru?" Fakir asks. "What happened?"

Ahiru forces her hands on the table. "Are we in trouble?"

One of his eyebrows quirks up. "What do you mean?"

She passes the bank statement across the table for him to see. "Is...is there a reason you keep taking money out?"

Fakir's eyes grow wider and a hand automatically goes to his right pocket.

"You know...you know you can tell me, right?" Ahiru goes. "I don't want you to do things like this alone, not when I can help."

"This...this isn't how I wanted you to find out," he admits.

Ahiru closes her eyes and winces in preparation. But then Fakir takes one of her hands in both of his and her eyes startle open. Fakir presses his lips together and sighs, his thumbs stroking the back of her hand while he searches for the words.

"Ahiru, it's for you," he finally says.

"Wha- what?"

"I- I mean... I got-"

He lets go with one hand and searches his pocket, taking out a small black velvet box. Fakir places the box on the table, unable to take his hand off of it with a slight tremble.

"-Ahiru, I," he starts again, holding her hand tighter when she feels her hand shake. "I want to know if...if..."

"Mm-hmm?" she gasps, choked up with realization and her free hand going to her mouth.

Fakir sighs, a harsher sound at his own nervousness before he finally asks, "Will you marry me?"

Ahiru jams her eyes shut, tears sitting at the corners, and nods her head until she's worried it'll fall off.

And then all she knows is she's holding Fakir's hands as tightly as he's holding hers and his kisses and murmurs of love just won't stop.


	5. Cloth

Cloth

Ahiru finally heaves a sigh of relief and satisfaction, safe behind the final drop of the curtain.

It's over. It's over and she didn't screw up. It's over and they've taken their bows and it was wonderful and Fakir saw everything! And she's stepping backstage with the rush of other ballerinas in the corps, backstage where friends and loved ones will be meeting them soon.

Fakir stands there in the wings, watching their bows from the side and waiting. The twinge of regret he thought he would feel at Ahiru's graceful approach isn't there, he notes. The words he said before by compulsion hold sincerity now.

There's no extravagant display of affection. He simply, softly takes her hand, held low just for them as they walk to her dressing room and then again as they head home.

That's enough for them.


	6. Senses

Senses

Fakir never takes his eyes off of Ahiru despite his work. He holds her hips tight as she writhes against him, his head between her thighs as he kisses and licks and suckles her. Every arch of her back off the bed, every touch of her hands gripping his hair so tight, every time her mouth wrenches open and her lips tremble is sheer bliss.

Ahiru never takes her hands off of Fakir despite the incredible pleasure. She tosses her head back and screams over the sound of his kisses, shaking and convulsing against the soft bed as he finally eases up. She loosens her grip as she feels him move up, her hands reaching to cradle his face. His hand guides her efforts and she carefully, slowly leans up as he climbs over her, letting him initiate the kiss so they don't bump into each other.

"I love you, Ahiru," he clumsily murmurs.

Ahiru smiles and Fakir places another kiss on her lips when she's stopped moving them.

In the end, the last attempt at a tragedy wasn't such a bad price to pay after all.


	7. Trust

Trust

It was a long time before they could dance again.

Both had been so certain they couldn't. How are they supposed to if he can't hear the music and she can't see where she's going? But despite that, neither one could bear the idea of the other never dancing again.

Once Ahiru had grown more accustom to the loss of her sight and the layout of the house, she would sometimes hum to herself and sway as she walks. Fakir liked to watch, even if he didn't know the song on her lips.

"Ahiru?" he calls in the sometimes stumbling voice that has become his new normal.

She turns herself around and nods for him to see.

"Can I take your hand?"

Ahiru smiles that nose-wrinkling smile that he's learned precedes her yes and she reaches out towards the sound of his voice. Once her hand is safely in his, he leans over to give it a kiss. She hears him laugh, the usual reaction whenever he sees her take in a quick breath and blush.

"I want to dance with you," he tells her. "Can I dance with you?"

Ahiru protests, her words rapid but he's able to read a few in the flurry of her lips. The problem with the loss of his hearing is Fakir finds he has to pay more attention to her mouth when he'd rather kiss her. Unable to resist, he leans closer and kisses the corner of her lips, feeling her argument stop.

"Ahiru," he murmurs. "Just...just trust me."

Fakir leans back to see what she has to say now. Ahiru nods, shifting her hand in his so he can lead her in a waltz. He smiles and pulls her closer, carefully guiding her in their dance.

Once the waltz became their nightly ritual, they worked their way back to ballet. Fakir helps keep Ahiru's posture straight while Ahiru helps Fakir keep up with the tempo. She shudders as he sighs.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers near her ear, one hand holding her wrist and the other her ankle supporting her arabesque.

She leans her head towards him before they resume dancing, Ahiru delicately twisting in Fakir's hold. They throw themselves in a low dip, her arms tossed behind her with fingers nearly touching the floor and his hand holding her lower back. His fingers gently trace her arching neck and he smiles at her smile. She takes his hand in hers and slowly comes back upright.

I trust you, she tells him as clearly as she can.


End file.
